


Sun Sinks Under Boston

by hinderants (smoken)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Era, Except AU in which Aaron and John would not be hanged after making out publicly, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 09:11:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8572627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smoken/pseuds/hinderants
Summary: “Laurens seems to have worn himself out.”  Burr answers because there seems to be some form of betrayal lying in  he’s mopey because you’re married.  Alexander raises his eyebrows, nods once, slow.  His eyes linger on John’s hand against his thigh.  Burr winces at the incredulity.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is most self indulgent thing ever. Firstly, everything is extremely vague because I actually know very little about how soldiers lived whilst stationed in cities during the American Revolution. I'm not even American idk. 
> 
> Secondly, I feel the need to point out that whilst it isn't exactly addressed or specifically stated, it's implied throughout the fic that John is fairly more intoxicated than Aaron, and, although he does sober up a bit for the sex, be wary if that may rub you the wrong way. Also, I didn't tag for infidelity in terms of Aaron and Theo because, even though she is mentioned as having a romantic connection to Burr, I've considered their relationship to be sort of early days in the casual stage.
> 
> Thirdly, feel free to point out any errors!! Although, as I said, not American, so European spelling for me.

_He's drunk_ , Burr reminds himself as if Laurens’ head on his shoulder, his lopsided grin, half lidded eyes weren’t enough of a reminder. There's sweat sticking his shirt against the wall and pressed to his back, result of the overcrowded room and Laurens’ warm body squirming against his side. Alexander is somewhere talking amongst Eliza’s family. Eliza who he so wishes had not married Alexander for sake of Aaron’s side being rid of a clinging John Laurens who could instead trail the man he was so dismayed to find legally bound to the woman. It’s been at least twenty minutes of this and Burr’s shoulder aches. He shifts.

“Burr, stop moving.” John whines, voice slow and slurred, rubs his forehead against Burr’s neck. Burr stills. There are eyes at the side of his head and a sideways glance reveals Lafayette’s glare. John digs an arm underneath one of his and haphazardly hangs the back of his hand against Burr’s thigh, weighty with implication. Lafayette is still glaring.

“Laurens.” Burr says. Something of a warning which falls much too short. An acknowledgement if anything. John has his eyes closed now and Hercules has joined Lafayette on the bench against the other wall. Aaron almost shuts his own, eyelids a sheild against the glares and the boy against him and _shit, Alexander’s coming over_. He shifts again, wills Laurens to sit away from him. He only turns his head, face towards the wall, ear against Burr’s shoulder, and turns over his hand as it slips higher. 

“What's this?” Alexander says. He's seemingly invited himself to sit beside Laurens, a gap between them which Burr can only yearn for as John presses closer. Burr sighs, longsuffering.

“Laurens seems to have worn himself out.” Burr answers because there seems to be some form of betrayal lying in _he’s mopey because you’re married_. Alexander raises his eyebrows, nods once, slow. His eyes linger on John’s hand against his thigh. Burr winces at the incredulity. 

“Certainly.” he replies, glances at John, his turned head and curled shoulders. Alexander stands, brushes his arm against Laurens’ on the way who turns his head to smile, toothless, up at the man. Alexander grins back, directs a wary look at Burr that feels like a warning, weighty. He leaves them to speak lowly at the other wall among Hercules and Lafayette. The glaring ceased.

“Your gang will be missing you.” Burr says and Laurens blinks up at him and _fuck, he's drunk, Aaron_. His lips take their time to curve up into a grin. 

“Your girl missing you?” He’s so close to Burr’s ear when he says it that he doubts even the plaster walls are privy to what he’s said. He exhales, slow, laboured. Laurens grins and it’s gradual like syrup, his eyes alight and looking right at him. He spares a thought for Theo, oceans away, and, _god_ , he misses her and her voice is in his head but it sounds deeper and her eyes are green and right in front of him, looking right at him. John is so close, hand gripping his thigh and hard chest against his arm. Burr looks over and the other bench aren’t glaring anymore, per se, rather disapproving from afar. 

“Aaron?” John says, hint of a chuckle into his ear. There’s spiders down Burr’s neck as he shivers. It’s much too cold in the room for John’s skin to be so warm against his neck. John is much too close for Burr to breath in without the scent of rum and heavy cologne making him queasy. The room is much too loud for Burr to piece together a response. Burr is much too reasonable to turn his head and kiss John.

Which is why he’s relieved he doesn’t have to. John is quick about it, chaste almost, a quick brush of their lips like he’s testing the waters. It leaves Burr wanting more, craving it almost and he knows, he _knows_ , that this is an awful idea. John is still drunk, still plastered to his side and Burr refuses to turn his head to be met with the bayonettes Lafayette and Mulligan likely have held in his direction. Then John whines, soft and high pitched, and Burr suddenly needs to know if the inside of his mouth is the same heat as his skin. 

The kiss is sloppy and far too wet but it’s still good. John tilts his head a little, the hand still on Burr’s thigh coming up and around his side. He keeps whining into it; small noises which vibrate against Burr’s lips. Burr sucks on his bottom lip, even if just to shut him up. Burr pants after they part, looks over John as red blooms across his cheekbones as a background to his freckles. Aaron almost stumbles upon the thought of beauty before he thinks better of it. 

John shuffles a little, detaches from his side and whilst Burr may have earlier been relieved, he kind of misses the heat. John pushes himself off the bench, stumbles a little, and holds a hand in front of Burr. He’s a little dumbfounded at first before he realises John’s expecting him to take it. He doesn’t get a chance to, though, because Alexander has John by the waist, pulling him to the bench to join Mulligan and Lafayette. 

Burr shuts his eyes, breaths in deep. He has half a mind to regret whatever he's gotten himself into. Has half a mind to expect he isn't likely to leave this reception alive. Burr opens his eyes. There’s people dancing in front of him, their skin alight with sweat, reflecting the glow of candles around them. There isn’t enough light, though, for Burr to make out Alexander’s expression when he turns his gaze in their direction. John has his back to him and Burr’s side is suddenly too cold without him. He thinks again of Theo and then the ocean and then of it drowning him and he’s drenched. But only by his own sweat and the only thing drowning him is the music and the cold heat and John Laurens who is walking back over.

He’s scowling in front of him and Burr’s head aches. John looks increasingly more sober the longer Burr stares up at him and he finally licks his lips, speaks, “Let’s go,” 

And Burr goes. 

It’s almost a small melee as they stumble their way down the street and back to the apartments. John hangs off Burr the whole way, though he’s still running on a simmering determination even as his feet slap the pavement heavily with each step. Burr kind of admires him for it.

The door is far heavier than Burr remembers when he tries to push it open with his back, Laurens at his front and slipping his tongue into his mouth to stroke the back of his teeth. Burr almost falls backwards once he does manage and John trips on the step up. It only pushes him flush against Burr’s chest, though, and he uses the force to keep moving him towards the bed. 

The backside of Burr’s knees hit the mattress and his legs buckle, falls back against it. John’s already knelt by the end of it by the time Burr can prop himself on his elbows. Burr has a moment of concern for his knees against the scratchy carpet but it passes in the next second because John is looking up at him. Something gets caught in his throat as his head hangs back, mouth propped open. His eyes are dark and half lidded and he’s got a curl of hair hanging over his forehead and just above his eyelash. Burr pushes himself up, sits forward, to tuck it back into its place. There’s a moment when they lock eyes and Burr thinks they’ve probably just mutually acknowledged that that was _something_.

John blinks his eyes back to his breeches and pushes Burr back onto his elbows. Burr watches as he noses against the fabric, breaths in. Watches as his tongue darts out to wet just over his cock and sucks there. It isn’t enough by any sense and Burr desperately needs the breeches gone. John has his eyes closed now, though, and it wouldn’t feel right to deny him. He hums around the fabric and Burr groans, low and quick. 

Burr leans on one of his elbows, uses the other hand to bury in John’s hair. He scratches the scalp for a moment before he tugs upwards. When John comes up he’s got that half lidded gaze again but he must understand what Burr’s asking because he’s unbuttoning his pants. He tugs them with his drawers, over his knees and Burr has to suck his lip between his teeth as the air hits his cock. John just stares for minute, hands rested on Burr’s knees before he looks up at Aaron and takes his cock in hand. He pumps twice, quick. When he laps at the head Burr sends his head back and gasps. John sucks it past his lips, using his hands to stroke the rest.

Burr isn’t _huge_ , but it's still impressive when John swallows him down to the hilt, nose against the hair there. He’s obviously well practiced and it makes Burr wonder if Alexander was the one he practiced with, wonders if John has a person to be that for him now. He loses his train of thought when John hums around him.

“ _Laurens_ , shit.” Burr moans when he starts bobbing his head, shallow and quick.

“John,” he replies and there’s a line of spit from the corner of his mouth to Burr’s tip when he pulls off. “My name’s John.”

Burr nods, this side of frantic, and John goes back down. It’s only a couple minutes later and Burr can feel himself a milimetre from the edge. He tugs John up and he’s whining again, pretty. He takes a minute to blink open his eyes, look up. “Gonna come-”

“Do it.” is all he says and then he’s licking around the base of his cock and then upwards and then sinking down and Burr doesn't last long. He comes down John’s throat and he swallows most of it, but a drop escapes down his chin and Burr watches his tongue dart out to clean it up. 

“Fuck,” he pants. He leans forward to pull John up by his shirt. John climbs over him, settles with most of his weight just to Burr’s side and kisses him. It’s slow and messy and Burr can taste himself against John’s tongue. They’re both panting when they pull away, breathing against the other’s lips. Burr cups the back of John’s neck, pulls him back down. He uses the other to undo his breeches, push his hand inside. John gasps when he gets a grip on him, short little intake of breath against his lips. 

Burr strokes him, slow and deliberate. His mouth doesn't leave John’s as he swipes his thumb over his slit, twists his wrist. John keeps whimpering, letting out tiny little moans and Burr swallows them all. He smears the precome leaking from John and uses it to quicken his hand. John pulls away from his mouth and moans loud, far too loud. Burr pulls him back in and nips his bottom lip, whispers, “Shh. You want the whole city to hear how I’ve got?” John groans, quieter. “How good you are for me?”

And that's all John needs before he's spilling onto his hand, hot. Burr milks it, strokes languidly until John smacks at his hand, over sensitive. They lay there for what might have been five minutes or five hours, their chests heaving, John’s arms around Burr’s. Aaron sits up and John’s hands follow him, fall heavy on the bed when he gets up. “Just grabbin' a cloth.” and he disappears down the hall before he comes back with a dry cloth.

The bed dips when Burr sits back down and John’s immediately trying to pull him closer. “Babe you’re gonna get sticky,” Burr says as he wipes off his hand, hint of amusement. John hums but doesn’t move so Burr has to rid him of his breeches himself. John flinches when the cloth rubs over his cock and Burr holds up his hands like he’s surrendering. Maybe he already has.

He chucks the cloth to the floor and follows it with his shirt. He scooches up and lies against the pillow which John chooses to forgo in favour of Aaron’s chest. Burr smooths down his curls where they’re tickling his chin and wraps an arm around his side. John’s skin is hot and Burr thinks he might melt in it. 

“We should definitely do that again,” and John hums in response.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from a Sylvia Plath poem. Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated :)!


End file.
